Patterns of Speech
by Villis
Summary: Another look into the future of the boys. One shot. Slightly more hopeful than useful. Quatre explains to Heero what Trowa needs. Threesome warning.


Quatre sighed, chewing absently on his lower lip as he looked down at his sleeping mate, reflecting on the long lines of Trowa's body and the tanned sheen of his chest. Their lovemaking had been sweet and slow, a study in careful tenderness and controlled heat. And yet hadn't he seen anxiety in those green eyes that stared at him with a mute appeal their owner would never voice, a slight hint of fear and spark of dread that was all too common these days? Any pleasure he might have taken from their joining had been eclipsed by the sight of that fear, that hint of panic that had made Trowa tilt his head back not in passion but in offering of his throat. He'd spoken the words he'd known were needed, the soft nothings that had once helped soothe away the memories the shrouded his love, but it hadn't been enough. Could never be enough…

And suddenly Quatre was tired; tired of hiding from the truth, tired of pretending the facts weren't facts. What use were his petty reassurances, his pretty whispered words? What use was any of it so long as the third member of their trio insisted on digging up the demons they were all trying to bury? Had he really believed that his words alone could control the damage, heal over the wounds even as new ones were being torn open?

Not that any of this was Heero's fault. Quatre knew that fully, as he knew Trowa's responses had been about the ghosts of the past and not any reflection on the Arabian himself. He knew the other boy was trying his best. Heero had his monsters, after all, just as scary and full of teeth as Trowa's. And if sometimes he moved too fast, spoke too gruffly, assumed too much…well, who was Quatre to judge? Only a year separated them from the war, barely an eye blink in the lager theater of their lives, and he knew better than to think that time healed much of anything. He had held faith in love, once…but it seemed clear that too had been misplaced.

He shook his head with a sigh, reluctant to leave the safety of the warm quilts and seek out a confrontation that was long overdue. He'd hoped against history that Heero would change his habits on his own, would learn something of patience by example. But his own patience was thin now, worn brittle by heartache and the wisdom that comes from loving so deeply it hurts. He might have gone on pretending that things were fine if not perfect, might have kept his eyes closed until it was too late to change things…but only an hour or so ago Trowa had actually flinched away from a hand intending nothing more than a caress and that had broken something in him, something deep and more angry than he liked to admit. This wasn't Heero's fault…but it was Heero's doing and enough was enough. He was tired of night after night spent repeating the same platitudes, the same clichés, only to have it all erased by a snapped order or slammed door. It was time to draw a line in the sand.

It would be so much easier if he didn't love them both so fiercely and if he didn't fear so much that Heero would refuse to listen, would refuse even to try. Because then he would have to choose…and he already knew the answer and that answer would mean the death of one of them. Choosing Trowa would mean Heero would choose a new lover…the same lover he would have taken at the end of the war, the same lover they had drawn him into their circle to save him from. Death was not cold to Heero…death was warm and wore a smiling face and promised peace in sleep. But if saving Heero meant killing Trowa, though absentminded destruction of the heart…

Why were these decisions his to make at all? Would he be forced to watch another of their number float away against the stars in a glided coffin, as he had watched first Wufie and then Duo? Or should he instead watch as his Trowa, his lovely and wonderful Trowa, was submerged by the scared little boy that lurked behind his eyes? Why was this burden his?

He pushed the question away and rose, drawing a silk robe around his frame and forcing his mind to settle. The burden was his because of his love and it was too early to think of such things anyway. He didn't yet know the path Heero would take and for once he longed to be surprised. He didn't have to search long for his quarry, as the prey's habits had been committed to memory within a few weeks of his joining them. Heero had a routine for every night, a careful schedule that helped soothe his need for order and control. The hour was late, just past midnight, and Quatre knew he would find their third member at his laptop, checking over the day's Preventer reports for anything that might have been overlooked. Though all three of them had lost their taste for bloodshed and would never again be active agents, they still kept in contact far more than was probably wise for their mental health. They had no real faith in this frail peace they had fought so hard for, this new age they had birthed. Every day that passed without the rise of a new dictator or exploded colony seemed a miracle that would surely end by tomorrow or the day after.

Heero didn't turn as Quatre entered the study, but that was hardly unexpected. The young Arabian slide his arms around the strong shoulders from behind, nudging the tousled hair with his chin. "We need to talk," he said softly, not ordering but asking, waiting to see if even this first step could be taken without coercion.

There was a moment of hesitance as Heero fought against this interruption, this unplanned break in what he considered dedicated work time. But there had been progress made in these past months and he lifted his hands from the keyboard, swiveling the chair and accepting the hug the small trial earned him.

"What is it?" he asked, "Is there a problem?"

Quatre nodded, drawing back only a little and dredging up a smile, feeling a hope that felt alien and warm growing in his chest. The question was a good sign. It showed Heero knew he was upset, showed he was not so blind as perhaps Quatre might have feared. He might hold no faith in the future, in peace, in the humanity of people, not anymore, but he could have faith in Heero. He had always had faith in Heero. He shouldn't have forgotten that "Yes, I think there is a problem. It's Trowa, Heero." He said, than shook his head with a little laugh that had nothing to do with amusement. "I don't even know where to begin. You have to stop this."

Heero's brow furrowed in confusion, the question plain on his face. The livid scar that marred his left cheekbone rose with the movement, a left over reminder of just how close he had come to fleeing into the dark to join Duo and Wufie and everyone else they had either lost or killed. Quatre traced it with a fingertip, feeling peace settle over him. There would be no choice, not tonight or any other. They'd just have to try harder, all of them. The bullet that had torn the dusky skin had marked all of them, had baptized them with blood and made them more than lovers. Heero would learn patience. Trowa would learn calm, and Quatre would learn faith…the faith he'd once embraced so easily and lost so hard and cruelly.

"Trowa…he needs reassurance, Heero." Quatre said and his tone was gentle, devoid of any hint of anger or scorn. "You haven't been doing that and that needs to change. Now. But I know you can do it. You need to make sure he knows he's loved and cared for."

He ducked his head a little to look into lowered blue eyes, wiping away the shame there with a kiss before continuing. "Sex wasn't about those things for him in the past. I know you love us. How could I not know? I don't care if you can't say the words yet. If you could never say them it wouldn't matter to me because I know. I feel it. But Trowa…he doesn't know. And when he starts to doubt you, he starts to doubt me. And if he starts to doubt us both, he'll start to doubt himself. I really don't want that. If you can't tell him with words, than tell him with your silence. He'll listen; you speak the same language, after all. Just tell him somehow."

Heero raised his gaze a little, shaking his head in rough denial, a hidden blush making his scar flare with blood. "I don't know how. I'm sorry. But I don't know how."

"Yes, you do." Quatre said firmly. "I've seen you do it. You tell him already. You tell him when you relax just because he's in the room and you know you're safe. You tell him when you rub his back when he's sore from doing flips. You tell him when you ask what he wants for breakfast. You already tell him in so many ways, Heero. I'm just asking you to try to do it more often."

And now the blue eyes stared into his without apology or restraint, burning with something that wasn't quite anger but had its roots closer to fear. "And if I don't, what then? If I can't?"

Quatre shrugged. "Nothing. We go on." He paused, looking at the careworn and familiar features, meeting the searing gaze with his own and not blinking. "Honestly, I asked myself the same thing. But I can't leave you. I don't think Trowa can either, even if you do scare him from time to time. But if you do love him, you'll be able to. You'll learn. And you do love him, don't you?"

The answer was long in coming, whispered finally in the shameful murmur of a boy admitting something naughty. "Yes."

"Then it's enough." Quatre said and knew that it was, in fact, everything. "You'll learn. I'll help. And he'll learn too."

He gathered Heero to him, felt the hesitant arms that wound around his back in return, and felt his space heart flare into sudden, joyful life. A hundred thousand souls sang with sorrow and love, touching him as he touched them, and he remembered what holiness felt like. The contact was too brilliant, too exquisitely painful to maintain, but before it faded he thought he heard joyful laughter and the touch of two hands at his shoulders. And if the tears he wept then scared Heero just as badly as Heero scared Trowa, he did not think that was altogether a bad thing. It was just one more thing they would have to work on…the difference between tears of hurt and tears of glory.

"Duo and Wufie say hello" he said, without explanation, and joined in the laughter of the universe.


End file.
